


i'm a sinner, you're the winner, i am too

by Wolfarella



Category: Borderlands
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Angry Sex, Barebacking, M/M, No Aftercare, Porn With Plot, Possessive Behavior, Rough Sex, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-12 07:28:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4470530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfarella/pseuds/Wolfarella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rhys, a down on his luck prostitute, gets the chance to hook up with the CEO of Hyperion, Handsome Jack. He's dangerous and like no one Rhys has ever been with before, and Rhys finds himself becoming addicted to him. Even when Jack starts to display jealousy and possessive behavior, Rhys can't get enough of him....</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i’ve turned Helios into a city for this story, and i kind of picture it like an urban cityscape similar to Coruscant from Star Wars (if that helps anyone). this isn’t a fluffy fic by any means, though it _does_ focus on the relationship between Jack and Rhys — a relationship that has its fair share of unhealthy elements. i am not glamorizing or romanticizing anything here, nor am i trying to paint this as an ideal relationship. **heed the tags/warnings** , whatever doesn't show up in this chapter will show up later.
> 
> this story was fueled by McDonalds’ sweet tea, sleep deprivation, and youtube montages of Handsome Jack quotes because Dameon Clarke is bae
> 
> this chapter is mostly just one big sex scene but the 'plot' will come later, and oh yeah, Rhys doesn't have an ECHO implant, he just has different colored eyes like Jack~

Rhys can’t believe his eyes.

When you live in Helios you see Handsome Jack everywhere. On billboards, in magazines, in videos projected above towers, you even hear his voice practically everywhere you go. There are tons of people who’ve never even set foot on the planet, much less in the city, and _they_ know who he is — that’s what happens when you're the president of one of the most well-known weapons manufacturing companies. 

He’s a rockstar, Rhys thinks. (Though he’s sure his roommate, Vaughn, would disagree.)

And at this very moment, Rhys is looking at the man himself. Not a projection or a fancy VI, not a picture or piece of snazzy artwork, but the actual Handsome Jack. 

Rhys is doing his thing, hanging out at a bar that’s known for being a place to pick up prostitutes — it’s practically the only reason _anyone_ comes there — and there’s _actual_ Handsome Jack standing right in front of him. Rhys swallows his beer a little too hard and it goes down hard, but hey, it’s a reminder that he’s not dreaming or anything. 

Is Jack there to pick someone up? Oh god, _please_. 

He realizes that he’s staring — and Jack is staring back, looking considerably less interested than Rhys is — and Rhys knows he needs to say something. Anything. If he doesn’t speak and Jack moves on to the next pretty face, Rhys is never going to forgive himself. Ever. He sets his glass down and props an elbow on the the bar — he almost misses, almost slips and hurts himself, but he shows his best smile. 

“Looking for some company?” he asks as confidently as he can. 

Jack scowls. He throws a quick look around the bar, then sweeps his gaze critically over Rhys. For a long, long moment, he just assesses him. Stares at him so hard that Rhys wilts and shifts his weight, anxiety making his shoulder blades itch. He fucked up, didn’t he? He goofed. _Shit_. 

But then Jack puts his hands on his hips, seeming resigned. “Yeah, you’ll do.” 

And really, Rhys should take that as an insult. But he doesn’t. 

He grins and straightens. “There’s a hotel around the corner —”

“Yeah, no, I don’t do hotels, kiddo. God, you’re a gangly one, aren’t ya? Nice long limbs.”

Rhys preens.

“I like the arm. Does it come with any attachments?” 

“Depending on how much you pay me, maybe I could afford some for next time,” Rhys says cheekily.

A bark of surprised laughter leaves Jack and he nods, almost like he’s impressed. He grabs Rhys’ nearly empty glass and tosses it back, finishing off the beer Rhys had been nursing the whole night while he’d waited for the right person to walk in. 

He grimaces at the taste. “I’m almost tempted to change my mind now — damn, you have crappy taste.” 

“It grows on you.”

“I highly doubt that. Let’s get outta here before you do something else to make me regret this.” 

“Don’t you want to hear my rates?”

Jack rolls his eyes. “Do you know who I am?”

“Well — yeah.”

“Then you know that I’m filthy frickin’ rich, right?”

Rhys sees dollar signs. He’s about to hook up with a god damn celebrity _and_ he’s going to be paid handsomely for it. (Hah… handsomely… Handsome Jack. He has to remember to tell Vaughn that one.) Could he get any luckier right now? 

“I mean, sure,” he says, shrugging. 

“Good, so just tell me what to call you and march that skinny ass out to my car.” 

“Rhys.” 

“Please tell me that’s not a fake name you picked for yourself, because _wow_ , it’s awful. Could’ve given yourself any name in the world and you pick that one.” 

“Nope, it’s very real and it’s very _not_ awful, thank you.” 

Jack mutters under his breath as they leave the bar, and there’s a large, sleek car waiting for them. The back door opens before they reach it, and Jack ushers Rhys in before he follows. 

There’s so much space in the back of the car that Rhys thinks both he and Vaughn could _live_ in there comfortably — and even invite Yvette over for parties, shit — and he stretches his legs out in front of him as he gets comfortable against the black leather seat. It even _smells_ expensive, and the dollar signs appear in front of Rhys’ eyes again. 

Jack settles beside him and as the door shuts, the car immediately starts moving, apparently programmed to go wherever Jack tells it. 

Rhys glances sideways at him. “Are we, uh, going to your place?” he tries to ask casually. He’s usually a lot better at this — well, a _little_ better at this — but maybe he’s a little starstruck right now. Sue him. 

“That a problem for you?” 

“What? No — no. I mean, I guess the _CEO_ of Hyperion isn’t going to cut me up and scatter my body parts throughout town or anything.” 

“Don’t give me any ideas, sweetheart. You should see what I do to my employees.” 

A laugh bubbles out of Rhys and _wow_ , he really shouldn’t find it funny, should he? Jack’s gaze flickers towards him, mouth twitching like he’s going to smile, and warmth pools in Rhys’ chest. He might actually enjoy this. 

Jack lives in only the sort of high-rise building you’d expect. It’s on the other side of Helios, the expensive side, and Rhys’ jaw drops a little as he sees it. He’d never even _fantasized_ about a building like this, much less seen one in person. He never could have imagined there were buildings this nice in the same city his crappy apartment existed in.

“Catching flies?” Jack asks when he sees Rhys’ reaction.

“Shut up, I was — I was thinking.” 

Jack cackles a little at that, climbing out of the car. 

The elevator to the top floor seems to take _ages_ and Rhys almost grows bored with it. But then Jack’s leading him into his penthouse and Rhys has to try and contain his amazement at the luxury that awaits him. He’s got to change his line of work, he thinks. He needs to own his own weapons manufacturing company or something because _this_? This is the kind of life he was meant to lead. 

As they reach the bedroom and Jack pulls off his outermost layer, Rhys bats his eyelashes a little — in the way Yvette taught him, not the way he used to do it, the way that made it look like he had something stuck in his eye. He gives his best smile again and even licks his lips. 

“So what do you want from me first, Handsome Jack?”

Jack smirks a little. “That’s nice — almost makes up for your cheap taste in beer. Here’s the plan, alright? I’m gonna fuck you stupid. I like it fast and I like my partners loud.”

“I can do that —”

“Yeah, we’ll see about that. Come here. You got any big no-no things I should hear about?”

“Not really.”

“That’s a _very_ smart answer,” Jack says sarcastically. “Let’s make it simple: you say ‘stop’ and I’ll stop. You say ‘no’ and I’ll change up my tactics. I’m a simple man, Rhys, however exquisite and refined my tastes might seem to someone of your…” he trails his gaze up and down Rhys, and finishes wryly, “Caliber.” 

“Works for me.” Rhys presses his hands against Jack’s chest, delights in the strength he feels, and he says, “You want to make yourself a drink first? Maybe I can give you a little massage —”

Jack interrupts him, cuts him off by shoving two fingers into Rhys’ mouth. Rhys’ eyebrows go up in surprise, his head cocking slightly, and Jack pushes out a sigh through his nose. 

“Look, I know you’re not charging me by the hour here, sugar, but really, I just wanna get on with it. I’ve had a long, dull week of dealing with the stupid _jackasses_ who work for me and I want something to take my mind off it.” He presses his fingers down against Rhys’ tongue, something dark and dangerous flashing in his gaze, and he asks, “You got that?” 

Rhys nods a little. Then takes a chance and sucks on Jack’s fingers. That dark and dangerous something comes back with a vengeance in those mismatched eyes, and Jack gives him a predatory little grin.

“I knew you weren’t as dumb as you look.” Jack reclaims his hand — not before tracing his spit-slicked fingers down Rhys’ chin — and he turns to sit down on the edge of the bed. He reclines back, braced on his hands, and he lifts one of his shoulders in an unimpressed half-shrug. “What’re you waiting for? Get undressed.” 

“You said you like it fast, I get it,” Rhys says with a little smirk, starting to unbutton his shirt, “But I know you’re the type who gets off on telling others what to do — I can tell. So, uh, _that’s_ what I was waiting for.”

“ _Oh_? You ‘know’ this about me, do you? You think you’re hot shit, huh?” 

“I mean… you _did_ pick me up.”

“And I can just as easily kick you out. I’m not the one who’s relying on this sort of thing to keep food on the table, babe.” 

Rhys gives an agreeing little nod, finished with the buttons (and he’d only fumbled with them once, at that). He opens his shirt and watches the way Jack’s eyes rake over him, scanning him critically. He’s skinny and soft, and he knows his clients tend to expect more from him — abs, at the very least — but he’s usually confident in his appearance. Or, at least, confident in the knowledge that his skills will make up for what his body lacks in definition. 

Usually. 

Something has his heart thumping uncomfortably in his chest now, however. Jack’s eyes bore into him, appraising him, and as his gaze travels over Rhys like he intends to burn the sight to memory, heat crawls up Rhys’ neck. It’s Jack, he knows. The power he wields to cut through you right to your insecurities, make you almost desperate for his approval. 

Hooking up with a celebrity isn’t as easy as Rhys thought it would be. 

He lingers on the robot arm as Rhys shrugs the shirt off entirely. Rhys unconsciously wiggles his mechanical fingers, a nervous tic. 

“Huh,” Jack says finally, thoughtful but not exactly disappointed. “Thought you’d look different.” 

Rhys opens his mouth, but Jack doesn’t let him finish.

“No, no, I think I like it, actually.” It’s like he’s debating with himself — like he doesn’t even realize he’s speaking aloud. He blinks and his gaze returns to Rhys’ face, eyes narrowing. He snaps his fingers and gives a low whistle like he’s calling a dog. “Pants next, come on.” 

Thinking better of just dropping his shirt to the floor, Rhys gives Jack a brassy little smirk and tosses it at him instead. Jack catches it lazily in one hand, but doesn’t throw it away — he holds onto it and stares at Rhys like he’s never seen anything quite like him before. And that’s good, right? That’s a good reaction to evoke in someone who’s paying you for sex? 

Rhys undoes his fly and hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his pants, sparing Jack another fleeting look before he slides them down. After toeing off his shoes, he steps out of both them and the pants, kicks them aside, and then he fingers the elastic of his colorful and striped boxer briefs. 

Jack snorts. He’s looking first at Rhys’ garish socks, then at his underwear. “Boy, you really dressed up for the occasion, didn’t you?” 

“At least I’m consistent,” Rhys says. Excuse him, but the design on the socks _and_ underwear almost perfectly matches — that’s awesome, and anyone with half a brain and a lick of fashion sense would tell you that. They weren’t even sold together in a set or anything. It was fate, buying them. 

“Look, I gotta ask: is it your first day on the job or something? You’re not striking me as someone who’s very professional here.” 

“That’s objective.”

“Subjective. That’s the word you’re looking for.”

“Whatever. Hey, man, if you aren’t feeling it, you aren’t feeling it. I can totally get out of here.” Rhys bends and grabs for his pants. He has no intention of actually leaving, but Jack doesn’t know that. He almost expects a quick ‘no’ from the other man, maybe with a forced too-casual follow-up to try and look cool afterwards. 

Instead, Jack says, low and threatening, “Put those back on and you’re gonna regret it, pumpkin. We’re just getting to the good part.” 

His tone makes Rhys’ throat go dry, makes him feel hot all over. He raises his eyebrows as he glances back at Jack, and Jack’s gaze is steady and even. Rhys thinks he probably shouldn’t be as into this as he is. In his line of work, you stay away from the people with such hunger in their eyes, such brutality buzzing in their bones and radiating off them in waves — no matter how rich they are. You have to be proactive if you don’t want to get hurt. 

And yet, all Rhys wants to do is tell this guy, ‘Hurt me, please.’ 

Dropping his pants again, Rhys smirks a little and nears the bed. Jack watches him, unblinking, and shifts his legs apart ever so slightly, telling Rhys right where he wants him without uttering a word. Dutifully, Rhys falls to his knees between Jack’s legs, placing his hands on Jack’s thighs and looking up at him from under his lashes. 

He slides his hands up towards Jack’s crotch, then drags his fingers back down. Jack flexes beneath his touch, and he huffs an agitated little sigh. 

“I’m not known for my patience,” he says. 

“Will you just let me do my job?” 

“You got any plans of actually doing it?” 

Fighting the urge to roll his eyes, Rhys slides his flesh hand back up and presses it against Jack. As he starts palming Jack through his pants, stirring his cock into arousal, he uses his robot hand to knead at the meat of Jack’s thigh, massaging it. With a satisfied little grunt, Jack shrugs out of the rest of his top layers, leaving himself in a yellow sweater that Rhys _really_ wants to point out is just as tasteless as his underwear/socks combo, but he bites his tongue. 

He unbuckles Jack’s belt, then undoes the fly of his pants, and a thrill shoots through him as he realizes that Jack seems to prefer going commando. Of course he does. It’s stupidly fitting. He glances up at Jack again as he dips his flesh hand into his pants, and Jack is breathing carefully through lips that are barely parted, his eyes darkened and clouded with desire as he stares down at Rhys. 

_You’ll do_ , he’d said. Rhys can’t help but feel smug. 

He pulls Jack's cock out — it’s mostly hard by now, of average length, but thick, and the dark hair around it is groomed meticulously, though he didn’t expect anything less. And as he wraps his fingers around the warm shaft, he squeezes lightly and traces his thumb along the prominent vein that runs on the underside. As if he’s touching himself, his own dick pulses in his underwear — that’s new. It usually takes a little more to turn him on by now. 

“Gonna tell me what a nice cock I have, or what?” 

Rhys grins at him. Gives him a few loose strokes before he brings his hand up to his mouth and licks a stripe from his palm to the tips of his fingers. He doesn’t miss the way Jack watches this simple gesture like a hawk. “Didn’t think I needed to point out the obvious.”

“Good answer.”

Still grinning, Rhys starts to work Jack’s dick nice and slowly. His fingers close tighter as he strokes upwards, then loosen up on the way back down, and he watches a translucent bead of pre-come swell out of the tip. Driven by a primal need to taste it, he ducks down and presses his lips to the head like he’s giving it a gentle kiss — he smears the wetness around with his mouth, then lets his tongue snake out and flick against the sensitive skin.

Jack takes a slow, controlled breath. 

Rhys casts a teasing look back up at him. “You taste nice too.”

And Jack grins at him. It makes Rhys feel warm again. 

He explores every inch of Jack’s cock with his tongue, starting at the base and licking up one side, and then down the other. He ignores the swollen tip, even as more pre-come oozes from it, and he starts mouthing along the shaft, letting his teeth slightly scrape the velvety skin. Some people don’t do teeth, but Jack doesn’t seem averse to it — he buries a big hand in Rhys’ hair and all but pets him in encouragement. 

When Rhys finally comes back up to the tip, letting his tongue swirl around it, a deep rumble of a groan leaves Jack. The sound goes right to Rhys’ cock and he _really_ wants to touch himself; almost does, in fact, but he reminds himself that he’s a professional. This is about Jack’s pleasure first and foremost — he can’t pay himself, after all. His tongue flicks against the tip again, playing at the leaking slit, and he smiles up at Jack.

“You like that?” he purrs.

“Oh, honey, you don’t need to talk to me like I’m one of your other average johns. If I didn’t like it, believe me, you’d know.”

Rhys laughs a little. Fair enough. He presses a kiss to Jack’s dick again, then wraps his lips around the tip. He sucks gently, lets his tongue dance against the skin, and he pays attention solely to the head. So the rest of Jack doesn’t feel neglected though, he starts working Jack’s shaft again with his hand, pumping it in smooth, easy motions. 

Jack sighs. His fingers tighten in Rhys’ hair, pulling. 

Rhys looks up at him to find that he’s staring down at him with fire in his gaze, and Rhys smiles around him before he lets his own eyes flutter shut. He hollows his cheeks as he sucks on the tip, earning himself another soft sound from Jack, a murmured praise that moves through Rhys on a shudder. 

Then, Jack says, “More,” and there’s pressure on Rhys’ head, urging him down. 

He obliges. Starts to take more of Jack into his mouth, and Jack sighs again. Rhys has been with a lot of vocal people before, but something about Jack is different — better. Or maybe it’s just Jack himself. Getting the president of Hyperion to moan and sigh and praise you is a hell of an ego boost, right? 

And damn, they’ve only just started. 

“All of it,” Jack says next. 

And again, Rhys obliges. Relaxes his throat and swallows every inch, buries his nose in the curls at the base. 

“That’s it, kitten, that’s the way.” He holds Rhys there, forces him to remain in place for a moment, and just as Rhys is starting to feel like it’s too much, he loosens his grasp and strokes Rhys’ scalp almost gently. Rhys comes up, coughing a little, and Jack lets out a groan mixed with a laugh. “Fucking beautiful.” 

“You probably say that to everyone who sucks your dick.”

“Well, you’re not wrong.” 

Rhys laughs and swallows him down again, flattening his tongue against the underside and sucking. Jack’s hand remains on his head as he starts to bob up and down, quickening the pace now that he’s getting used to Jack’s size, and once or twice, Jack holds him down again. And Rhys likes it more than he should, likes the way Jack calls him a ‘good boy’ when he comes up for air. He’s given a lot of blow jobs in his life, and there’s only one he’s enjoyed more than this one right now, and that’s only because that one had sentimental value to him. 

He’s enjoying it so much, actually, that when Jack pulls him off of him and growls at him to stop, Rhys is disappointed.

Jack stands, yanking Rhys up with him by his hold on his hair, and he slides an arm around Rhys’ waist. Before Rhys can ask what he wants next, Jack’s other hand is on him. He grabs him through his boxer briefs, shaping his fingers against Rhys’ erection and squeezing. A shaky little moan of surprise leaves Rhys. He feels like he needs to hold on — his fingers twist into the material of the Hyperion sweater, feet trying to find purchase on the plush rug. 

“Got this hard just from tasting me, huh? I bet I’m the only one that’s ever affected you like that, aren’t I?” 

He squeezes again, hard, and a broken little sound leaves Rhys as he tries to speak. 

“Come on, use your words.” 

“You — you are,” Rhys manages. It’s hard to think because of the way Jack’s fingers are working against his cock, stroking him through the thin cotton of his underwear. It’s like Rhys’ body is an instrument that he alone is some weird expert at playing. 

“I am what? You’re losing me here, kiddo.” 

Rhys curses. 

Jack laugh. “As much as I like hearing these vulgar little words fall from your pretty little mouth, that’s not what I was looking for.”

“You’re the only one,” Rhys says through his teeth. “I’ve never gotten this hard blowing anyone before.” 

Jack’s eyes gleam wolfishly. He suddenly turns and shoves Rhys down onto the bed, and in a flash, he’s hooking his fingers into the waistband of Rhys’ underwear and wrenching them down his hips. Rhys’ cock springs free and settles against his stomach, and Rhys shifts a little on the mattress, getting comfortable.

Jack tosses the boxer briefs aside and surveys Rhys fully; the long expanse of his torso, his spindly legs, his hairless cock and balls. He smiles a little. “Look at that pretty cock — so desperate for me to make it come.” 

And Rhys doesn’t know how to react because this isn’t at all what he’s used to. His normal clients usually just want a quick release — whether it’s a blow job followed by a short, unsatisfying-for-him fuck, or just a blow job and facial before they turn all self-loathing and cold — they never act like this. They don’t care about Rhys’ pleasure — they aren’t paying for _him_ to get off, of course. 

But Jack seems actively interested in it, and _holy shit_ , Rhys is so turned on he can’t think. 

Jack chuckles and shakes his head. “Oh, I’m gonna fuck you so good, Rhys.”

The sound of Jack’s voice as he says his name makes Rhys’ cock throb.

“But first,” Jack goes on, that predatory glint flashing in his eyes again, “I want to watch you.”

“You want to…?”

“Touch yourself for me, baby.” 

Rhys hesitates, though he doesn’t know why. 

“Go on.” Jack pulls his yellow sweater over his head, flinging it aside carelessly, and Rhys is momentarily distracted by the sight before him. 

With his pants open and his dick still hanging out, Jack is shirtless and thoroughly impressive. It’s hard to tell with all the layers, but he’s broad and thick, not necessarily cut or ripped, but strong all the same. There’s dark hair across the top of his chest, and even scars littering his torso that Rhys longs to learn with his tongue. 

He notices that Rhys is staring and visibly puffs up a little in pride, though he makes a flapping gesture with his hand. “Things were going so well for us, Rhysie, don’t make me lose my patience here.” 

Rhys nods and brings his flesh hand up to his mouth to get it nice and wet with spit. He grabs ahold of his dick and starts stroking it at an even pace, his gaze flickering from what he’s doing up to Jack. Jack settles his hands on his hips and just watches, his jaw tight and his eyes smoldering, and Rhys knows he’s blushing stupidly. His neck and face are on fire — he’s never really been shoved into the spotlight like this before.

But he likes it. He likes the way Jack is looking at him like he wants to devour him, like he intends to do just that any second. The thought sends a spike of pleasure through him and Rhys can’t stop the little groan that leaves him. The idea of Jack’s mouth being anywhere on him makes him want to cry he’s so desperate for it.

How did this happen? How did he lose control so quickly? 

“Feels good, huh?” Jack asks. 

“So good.” 

Jack grins at Rhys’ immediate response, pleased that Rhys had answered with actual words. “You want me to fuck you?” he asks next.

Rhys shivers a little, hips pushing up off the bed to get more of his moving fist, and he nods. “Yes. So bad, Jack.”

Jack raises his eyebrows.

“I want you to fuck me so bad.” 

“I know you do, buttercup.” He moves away, rounds the bed to go to the nightstand, and when he glances back at Rhys and sees his hand falter, he says, “Ah-ah, keep it up. Don’t you stop until I tell you to stop.” 

He returns to his post at the end of the bed to watch Rhys, and Rhys sees what he’d grabbed from the bedside table. There’s a condom in one hand, and a bottle of lube in the other, and excitement piques in him. It must be obvious because Jack laughs.

He tosses the lube onto the mattress beside Rhys. “Get yourself ready for me.” 

He’d brought his own lube — he was always prepared, with condoms and lube in his pockets — but he’s more than happy to use Jack’s. No doubt, Jack owns the good stuff, the expensive stuff that makes it feel extra good. Rhys grabs it eagerly with his mechanical hand, still pumping his cock with the other. 

“Yeah, nice and wet and ready,” Jack murmurs. His own hand’s gone to his dick too, and Rhys is sure he could come just from the sight alone.

Rhys stops stroking himself and spreads his legs, bent at the knees, and he angles his hips to not only give Jack the show he wants, but to make sure he can reach. He squeezes a good amount of lube into his flesh hand and smooths it around his fingers, and then he squeezes more out and brings his hand between his legs. Jack watches hungrily. 

Holding his breath, Rhys spreads the liquid around his hole and dips his forefinger past the tight ring of muscle. A pleased rumble stirs in Jack’s chest once more. The sound urges Rhys on, and he slides his finger in as deep as he can. He rushes it — he’s way too eager to get to the good stuff — and he adds a second finger almost right away. 

As he starts to work himself open, he moans Jack’s name and looks back up at the other man. Jack is stroking himself, his movements restrained and slow, and he’s not watching what Rhys thought he was watching — his eyes are glued to Rhys’ face. If Rhys’s skin wasn’t already burning, it certainly is now. 

“Another finger,” Jack says. 

So Rhys adds a third finger. The feeling of being stretched makes a shiver of delight course through him, but it’s not enough — god, he can’t wait until it’s Jack stretching him. The thought makes his hips jerk off the bed a little, a gasp leaving him as he fucks himself on his fingers. 

Jack curses under his breath. And suddenly he’s tearing open the condom and rolling it on, and Rhys could laugh he feels so excited. After getting the condom on, Jack shoves his pants down and steps out of them, and he climbs into bed with Rhys, kneeling between his open legs. 

“Don’t stop,” he reminds Rhys. He picks up the bottle of lube to smooth some along the length of his cock, and his voice is a little tight as he adds, “Gonna fuck you into the mattress, sweet thing, it’s gonna feel _so_ good.” 

Rhys smiles, brazen. “You promise?” 

And Jack gives another laugh-turned-groan. 

He grabs Rhys’ wrist, finally allowing him to stop working himself open, and his fingers stay locked around it like a steel manacle. He uses his other hand to line himself up, guide himself to Rhys’ entrance. Rhys props his hips up, and he’s glad they’re doing it like this — he wants to be able to watch Jack. 

As the head of Jack’s dick presses against him, he clutches at the bed sheet beneath him with both hands. Jack’s moaning even as he starts to push into him, and though it burns — _fuck_ , he’s thick — Rhys only wants more. His eyes squeeze shut before he forces them open again because he needs to see, needs to watch Jack’s face.

He’s not disappointed. 

Jack’s expression is hard-edged but one of pleasure, his eyes half-lidded and dark, his mouth open. He looks up from where his cock is sliding into Rhys, gaze finding Rhys’ face again, and he murmurs, “So tight and warm for me.” 

“Only for you,” Rhys agrees. A lot of his clients like that one, but in the moment, he actually kind of means it. 

And Jack seems to like it too. He grins a shark’s grin and braces his hands on the mattress on either side of Rhys. In one fell motion, he sinks into him completely, burying himself to the hilt, and Rhys arches beneath him, breath leaving him in a gasp. It hurts, but god, it feels so good at the same time. 

“So _warm_ ,” Jack says.

Rhys grins up at him and wriggles his hips like he’s trying to entice him. Being stretched like this, being so full of Jack, makes him feel like he’s intoxicated. His head swims and the sound of his pulse is thick in his ears. 

Jack doesn’t wait to start moving. And if he were anyone else, Rhys might have been offended. He pulls out of Rhys almost entirely, only to thrust back into him as deep as he can, and he finds a quick rhythm. Rhys wraps his legs around Jack’s hips, trying to keep himself angled perfectly, and he bites back a grunt as Jack shifts, moving over him a little more. 

And then Jack’s staring down at his face as his hips work, watching Rhys’ expression like it’s the most important thing in the world, and Rhys feels more vulnerable than he’s ever felt — which is saying a lot, he thinks. The pain is going away — or maybe it’s just being overruled by the pleasure — and Rhys lets one of his hands slide up Jack’s side, short nails scratching at his ribs. 

As if Jack takes this as some sort of encouragement, he thrusts harder into Rhys. Rhys’ eyes close on their own, his head falling back with a short groan, and Jack says, “Fuck yeah.”

He follows through on his promise. Rhys doesn’t try to hold back his moans as Jack fucks him open, driving into him hard and fast. He writhes beneath him, hands clutching at anything they can reach — the sheets, the pillows, himself, Jack’s arms, even Jack’s face (Jack nips at his flesh fingers, teeth sharp and blunt, and it makes Rhys’ cock twitch).

He doesn’t want to touch himself yet though. He knows that the minute he touches his dick that it’s over, that he’s going to come all over himself like a teenager. He wants to last. For Jack. 

Jack’s hair falls over his face, wild and damp with sweat, and there’s a vein in his neck popping as he slams into Rhys. And the whole time, his fiery eyes never leave Rhys’ face. Rhys doesn’t know what he’s watching for, and it makes him feel crazy self-conscious, but it also makes him feel kind of… special at the same time. 

“You close, pumpkin?” he asks in a cloyingly sweet tone, sarcastic even as he’s fucking Rhys like his life depends on it. 

“S-so close,” Rhys stutters unintentionally, his breath catching on a particularly hard thrust. One that touches that sweet spot inside of him and has him seeing stars. 

Jack glances down at Rhys’ bouncing cock, but his gaze returns quickly to Rhys’. “Go on. Touch yourself.”

“Jack — if I — I’m gonna come,” Rhys whines. 

“That’s what I want.” 

He doesn’t need to say anything else. Rhys’ flesh hand goes right to his dick. He pumps himself as hard and fast as Jack is fucking him, hips bucking to get more of it. Get more of Jack and pull him in deeper. And when Jack hits that secret spot inside of him again, that’s all it takes. 

He cries out and arches against the mattress, eyes clenching shut as he comes. It’s hard and blinding, and he almost feels like he’s going to die, and he thinks, well, at least he’s dying doing what he loves the most — orgasming. He makes a mess all over his stomach and chest, and he hears Jack’s deep, resounding groan in response, but he can’t quite open his eyes just yet. 

He feels like there’s nothing beneath him, like both the floor and bed have disappeared and he’s suspended in air. As he collapses against the mattress, boneless and quivering, Jack doesn’t stop — continues to push relentlessly into him. He’s almost startled when one of Jack’s hands comes up to cup his jaw, his fingers firm against his skin like he’s hoping they leave marks.

“Look at me,” he says thickly.

Rhys opens his bleary eyes against light that feels too bright, and his gaze finds Jack’s. Satisfied, Jack flashes his teeth in a grin that looks more like a snarl, and still cupping Rhys’ jaw, he traces his thumb around the shape of Rhys’ mouth. When Rhys instinctively parts his lips, Jack shoves his thumb between them, and Rhys smiles around it and sucks. 

The muscles in Jack’s neck go tight and his own climax hits him at that very instant. 

He rears back, a sharp sound clawing its way out of his throat, and he rocks against Rhys once, twice, and then holds himself still. He pulls his thumb out of Rhys’ mouth and both of his hands go to Rhys’ hips, clutching so hard there’s _definitely_ going to be bruises, and he utters a string of curses as he finishes coming. 

And Rhys has never seen anything so damn hot. 

Jack laughs breathlessly — it’s a rough sound. He grabs a handful of Rhys’ hair and jerks him up as he leans down, delivering a hard, close-mouthed peck to the crown of his head. It’s not affection, more like Jack thinks it’s some kind of reward. And truthfully, Rhys has no problem taking it as one. After he drops Rhys none-too-gently, he moves away, pulls out, and climbs to his feet. 

As his cock leaves Rhys, Rhys sighs at the loss. And then he sighs again at how exhausted he feels — only the sort of deep fatigue in his bones that comes from being ‘thoroughly dicked’ as Vaughn would say. He glances down at his chest as Jack disappears into the bathroom, and an incredulous little huff of laughter leaves him. He hadn’t known what to expect when Jack had picked him up, but it definitely hadn’t been this. _Shit_. 

Jack returns moments later, having discarded the condom and cleaned himself up — his hair is neat again, swept back out of his face. He’s composed, looking cool and casual, and when his eyes go to Rhys, he smirks. “Look at you, all sweet and destroyed.”

“You’re welcome,” Rhys says, pointing a finger gun at him. 

And Jack gets a big kick out of that. When he’s done laughing, he shakes his head like he’s shaking himself out of a dream, and he says,“There’s soap in there, clean yourself up. You’re a disgusting _mess_.” 

Rhys doesn’t know how long it takes him to actually get out of the bed. Jack wanders his large room without bothering to put any clothes on, ending up at his desk and paying a lot of attention to his computer. The nosy brat in Rhys wants to try and see what he’s doing — can you blame him for being curious? — but the businessman in him stops him from trying it. Jack hasn’t paid him yet. 

The shower is beyond amazing. Not just because there’s real, actual water pressure unlike the stuff at his dumpy apartment, but because Jack has a ton of good smelling (and good feeling) soaps and shampoos. He takes a little longer than he probably should, but the hot water feels too good on his achy body, makes him unwind after what had to be one of the most intense orgasms he’s ever had.

When he comes out of the bathroom, done cleaning up and perfecting his hair at last, Jack’s waiting for him. He’s still naked — probably intends to take a shower the minute Rhys leaves — and he lets his eyes roam over Rhys slowly, a rapacious smirk curving his lips. He holds out a roll of bills. Ka-ching. 

Rhys smiles and reaches for the money.

Jack pulls it back, eyebrows going up. “Not gonna forget me, are you, sweetheart?” 

“If I promise not to, do I get a tip?” 

A snort of laughter leaves Jack. He holds the money out again and Rhys makes sure to let his fingers stroke Jack’s as he takes it from him — it’s a thick roll, heavy in his hand, and he thinks, _damn_ , he and Vaughn are eating good in the morning. He wants to count it all out and see just how much this night was worth to the likes of Handsome Jack, but that’s never good for business — you don’t want to look like you don’t trust your client.

When Rhys manages to tear himself away, when he slips out of the penthouse and makes his way towards the elevators, he realizes that he’s in trouble. Not just trouble, but Trouble with a capital T. 

He might have been being cheeky when he’d answered Jack’s last question, but the truth is that he _definitely_ won’t be able to forget this. Besides the fact that Jack’s face is plastered everywhere the Hyperion brand is, how could anyone forget a night like the one he’d just had? He’d come so hard that he swears his legs are still shaking even as he leaves the high-rise and finds a cab already waiting for him, and when he gets back to his and Vaughn’s shared apartment, he almost wants to brag about how well-fucked he is. (Vaughn’s lucky he’s already asleep and that Rhys is too nice to wake him up. You’re welcome, bro.)

As he crashes into bed, tenderness settling into him in all the right places, he’s actually a little crestfallen, knowing that this had most likely been a one-time thing. Tonight had been the first and only time Rhys had ever seen Jack at the bar he frequented — he doubted he’d see him there again. 

At least it’d resulted in some good money, he figures. The thought is enough to make him roll over and slip into an easy, contented slumber. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> firstly, thank you all for that amazing response to the first part, i honestly didn't expect that.
> 
> and secondly, **all of the things i've warned for up top come into play by the end of this chapter**. i've given as much warning as i can and if you still choose to read it, you know what you're getting into. now, i apologize for living in my trash can of sin, and i hope this chapter lives up to y'alls expectations.

It’s a Thursday and someone has just stolen Rhys’ potential client. 

He slumps against the bar as he watches the woman with the _very_ shiny necklace and hand full of _very_ shiny rings get led away, and yeah, he’s jealous of the girl that charmed her. There’s definitely money in someone who wears jewelry like that to a place like this. He flags down the bartender for a second beer, and he stares down into it like it holds all the answers of the universe. 

It doesn’t, by the way. At least, he hasn’t found them yet. 

He raises the glass to his lips and takes a big pull. Bored, he swirls it around in his mouth a little, and just as he’s contemplating whether or not he should try a new place tonight, he feels someone hover at his shoulder.

“Still drinking that crap? Hell, kiddo, I gotta train you better.” 

He chokes. It’s a little embarrassing. 

The cheap beer burns as it goes down the wrong way, and he has to pound the heel of his robot hand against his chest as he coughs. He turns to Jack, more giddy than he ought to be, and yeah, super glad that he hadn’t managed to win over the jewelry lady. 

Jack is there _again_ and not only that, but he’s the one who’d sought Rhys out. The actual president of Hyperion made a conscious decision to return to this seedy little bar to look for _him_. Rhys has never felt so flattered in his miserable little life. 

“Was I so good last time you forget how to speak?” Jack snarks. 

“What? No, shut up, I just — I didn’t expect to, you know, see you again.”

“Well, you weren’t _that_ terrible.” 

“I think what you mean to say is that I was amazing.” 

“ _I_ think I wanna put that smart little mouth of yours to better use,” Jack says, and his voice does that low, dangerous thing that sends shivers through Rhys. He leans a little closer. “What do you got to say to that, kitten?” 

Rhys grins and ducks his head coyly. He tries to look cool and disinterested, despite the fact that he’d lit up like a Christmas tree at the sight of Jack. “I guess I can make room for you in my schedule,” he says. 

When he looks back up, Jack is staring at him. There’s something hard in his eyes, something Rhys can’t quite read, but then Jack’s mouth curves up into a smirk. He grabs Rhys by the elbow and ushers him towards the exit, and Rhys can’t help but to grin the whole way. 

The car ride is spent groping one another in the backseat. Rhys palms Jack through his pants while Jack snakes a hand under Rhys’ shirt to scrape his nails up and down Rhys’ chest, stopping every now and then to play with his nipples and get him squirming. Like their first night together, Jack’s eyes remain locked on Rhys’ face, and Rhys smiles a lot more than he probably should — he feels like he’s admitting to a deep, dark secret by smiling as big as he does. 

When they get to the high-rise, they keep their hands to themselves just long enough for them to make it to the elevator. Once the doors slide shut, Jack grabs Rhys by the front of his shirt and shoves him up against the mirrored wall.

God, how much had Rhys thought about this? He’d tried really hard after that night to keep Handsome Jack from his mind, not wanting to disappoint himself by dwelling on something that he’d probably never get again. He’d bragged and bragged to Vaughn, hoping that if he got it out of his system he could just forget, but it’d always been there. And not even just at the back of his mind, either — at the very forefront. 

He’d gone to bed thinking about Jack, woken up thinking about Jack, had sex with other clients thinking about Jack, even did stupid normal things like laundry and eating ice cream thinking about Jack. 

And here they were again. He must have done something right in his life for karma this good. 

Jack brackets Rhys in with his arms, trapping him like he plans on trying to escape — a clue: he doesn’t — and he’s so broad and powerful and warm, and Rhys _beams_ at him. Jack’s pressing into him, grinding against him, the growing hardness in his pants rubbing against Rhys’ hip, and he’s so close that his breath dances across Rhys’ face. 

Rhys doesn’t know where to put his hands. They rest on Jack’s hips, then his shoulders, and then he glides them down to Jack’s ass — a bold move that brings a lecherous grin to Jack’s face. Jack shoves one of his legs between Rhys’, pressing his thigh against Rhys’ crotch, and a sheepish chuckle leaves Rhys. He’s already painfully hard from the car ride, straining against his pants. It’d be embarrassing if Jack were anyone else. 

But he’s not.

“Been thinking about me, pumpkin?” Jack asks. 

Rhys nods, then remembers that Jack likes it when he uses his words. “More than I should,” he admits. 

“Tell me.” 

“Jack….” 

He crushes his thigh against Rhys’ erection so hard it hurts, and Rhys blinks away the stars that bloom in his line of sight. “ _Tell me_ ,” he hisses. 

“When I wake up,” Rhys says quickly, dragging in a deep lungful of air as he tries to clear his mind. His heart’s banging against his ribcage and his head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton, and he just can’t fathom how Jack does this to him. He’s like a drug. “When I wake up, there’s just you.” 

“And?”

“When I go to sleep.” 

Jack leans in and buries his face between Rhys’ neck and shoulder, breathing in deeply like he’s savoring the scent of him. Rhys shudders. He’s started moving against Jack’s thigh, rocking his hips and thrusting even as Jack presses forward. 

So much for trying to look aloof, right? He’s turned into such a wanton mess, confessing to the fact that Jack is the only thing that’s been on his mind. A bigger man would be ashamed of himself. Lucky for him, Rhys has never been a bigger man. 

“When I’m — when I’m in the shower,” Rhys says. 

Which is apparently what Jack wants to hear. He sinks his teeth into Rhys’ shoulder through his t-shirt, and Rhys gasps. Jack draws his teeth along Rhys’ collarbone, sending sparks through Rhys’ veins, and Rhys jerks forward, grinding against Jack’s leg brazenly. This is what he’d wanted so badly last time, this is one of the regrets he’d had because it hadn’t happened:

The feeling of Jack’s mouth on him is everything he’d known it would be. He can’t even be annoyed by the fact that his shirt is still on. 

“Do you touch yourself?” Jack’s dark voice is muffled against Rhys’ shoulder. 

“Of course.”

“Do you imagine me there with you, Rhysie? Watching you?” 

“ _Yes_.” Rhys squeezes Jack’s hips. 

Jack pulls back so he can look at Rhys’ face again, an arrogant smirk playing at his lips. “Do you say my name when you come? I bet you do.” 

Rhys nods. He’s barely able to murmur a quick assent before Jack eagerly goes on.

“How do you say it?” 

“ _Handsome Jack_ ,” Rhys moans. 

A growl pulls out of Jack. In one swift motion, he grabs Rhys under his ass and lifts, pinning Rhys against the wall and hooking his legs around his waist. Rhys might be skinny but he’s also tall, and no one’s ever picked him up like this before — excitement pierces him. As his hands go to Jack’s shoulders to steady himself, he breathes out a surprised laugh.

Jack pushes off from the wall and carries Rhys out of the elevator — Rhys hadn’t even realized they’d stopped moving. How long had the doors stood open? Either outrageously long or just a few seconds, he’d guess. Either way, it’s a good thing no one else in the building had tried to call the elevator. (Is there even anyone else there? It wouldn’t come as a shock to him if he found out Jack owned the whole building to himself. Which is a thought that sends another spike of thrill through him.)

Jack doesn’t let go of Rhys until they’re in his penthouse. Rhys doesn’t expect Jack to drop him — his arms are broad and strong and Rhys has a pretty good hold on him — but he feels only the sort of clumsiness that comes from being too lanky, and he worries he’ll mess something up somehow. He doesn’t. And as Jack walks, Rhys combs his fingers through Jack’s hair, follows that charming streak of gray, and he earns himself a soft, murmured praise. 

They don’t go to the bedroom this time. Rhys definitely isn’t all that broken up over it, considering how opulent the whole place is. Jack sets him down in the living room, instead, and gives him a firm swat to his ass. 

He says, “Take it off. All of it.” And then he strides to an armless leather chair and throws himself into it, facing Rhys with ravenous eyes.

Rhys doesn’t need to be told twice.

He wrenches his shirt over his head — gets his mechanical arm a little tangled in it, which makes heat crawl up his neck — and before it even hits the floor, he’s shoving his pants down around his ankles. He kicks off his shoes and manages to get his pants off without stumbling, and when he tugs down his underwear, he tosses an eager glance Jack’s way.

“Not those,” Jack says as Rhys makes a move to pull his socks off. “You can leave those on.” 

Rhys grins. _Finally_ someone seems to appreciate the socks. 

He straightens to his full height, his freed cock glistening at the tip where it’s leaking, and he looks to Jack again. Jack’s gaze flickers south briefly, before fixing on Rhys’ face. One of his hands drops into his lap and he cups himself through his pants, his eyes locked with Rhys’. There’s something like a challenge in his gaze, and Rhys feels a tug in his gut. 

Desire doesn’t feel like a strong enough word.

As Rhys closes the distance between them, Jack shrugs out of his top layers and lets them fall to the floor. He pulls something out of his pants pocket, and Rhys realizes he’s not the only one who’d been prepared — there’s condoms and a familiar bottle of lubricant in his hand. He’d planned this all out. Which means he’d been thinking about Rhys too, doesn’t it? 

Yeah, Rhys is totally going to let that stroke his ego. 

Jack smirks. “So here’s what’s gonna happen, sweetheart. You’re gonna ride me. You’re gonna show me how much you want this cock.” 

“That’s doable.”

“But first….”

Jack lurches forward and grabs Rhys, yanking him down. Rhys is able to make a surprised sound in his throat, and before he knows it, Jack’s got him bent over his lap, face down and ass in the air. His pulse thrums, his heart climbing a little in his throat, and he stammers wordlessly. Is he about to get _spanked_? It’s not something he’s ever done before — he might have liked some warning, at the very least.

But Jack doesn’t spank him.

Instead, he lubes up his fingers, and as he slides them between Rhys’ cheeks, his other hand settles on Rhys’ back to hold him in place. Rhys feels precarious like this, unsteady, but Jack’s blunt fingers are slick and warm at his hole. He traces teasing circles around the puckered skin, and soon Rhys can think of little else but how badly he wants this. 

Jack eases a finger into him, sighing like he’s just taken a hit of a drug he’s been fiending for. “But first…” he says again, “I gotta get you ready for it, don’t I?”  

Rhys is tall enough that he can brace a hand against the floor, and he settles the other on Jack’s thigh. He lets his head hang, neck and ears burning, and he tries to breathe evenly through his nose. Everything feels so different with Jack. It’s heightened and fresh, like it’s his first time.

He’s in Trouble, he reminds himself. This seems like something he can grow addicted to. 

A moan shudders out of him as Jack works in his second finger and buries his digits to the knuckles. 

Jack chuckles. He starts thrusting his fingers in and out of Rhys, twisting them this way and that, crooking them inside of Rhys, scissoring them apart. Rhys squirms and says his name, clutching Jack’s thigh tighter. 

“That’s it, make some noise for me. Remember what I told you, babe? I’m a simple man.” 

Rhys groans a little, shifting in Jack’s lap so he doesn’t feel quite so unsteady. His cock pulses as Jack drives his fingers as deep as he can, like he’s searching for something, and he breathes out, “Feels good.” 

“I know.”

Jack crooks his fingers again and they brush up against that sweet, special spot. Rhys jerks against him, a high, sharp sound leaving him, and his legs quiver slightly. Jack laughs like he’s just heard the funniest joke, but the sound makes Rhys’ spine tingle. 

When Jack adds a third finger, his hand leaves Rhys’ back so he can squeeze out more lube. Rhys pushes back against his fingers. 

“So eager for me,” Jack says. “It’s a little sad.” 

“You love it,” Rhys bites out, writhing. He gasps as a fourth finger joins the rest, pressing in deep. He wants to say more, but the feeling of being stretched like this makes him feel too hot and electric all over — he can’t string the words together right. 

Jack grunts in response. Then says, “And just as tight as I remember.” 

Rhys wriggles, and he doesn’t know if he’s trying to get away from Jack’s fingers, or get more of them. All he knows is that his cock is so hard it’s almost painful and he doesn’t think he can last like this. He needs _more_. 

“Jack,” he says. 

“Yeah, kiddo?” Completely casual. Like he’s not knuckle-deep in Rhys. 

“I want — I need —”

“My dick?” 

Rhys nods.

“Go on. Words.” 

Rhys laughs breathlessly and curses at Jack, ducking his head again. “I need your dick inside me,” he’s able to manage far too shyly for someone in his current position. 

And Jack relents. He pulls his fingers out of Rhys and smacks his ass, and Rhys struggles to his feet, the backs of his legs already aching from the position he’d been forced into. While Jack tears into one of the condoms he’d pulled out, he passes the other to Rhys, who doesn’t waste any time in putting it on; they make clean-up easier. If he hadn’t been so caught up in the moment the first night, he’d have worn one then too. 

Jack undoes his pants and pulls them down just enough to get his cock out, and Rhys is pleased to see that he’s just as hard as him. After a few short and rough strokes, Jack rolls his own condom on and tosses aside the packaging. As he slathers himself with lube — the bottle of which he also tosses aside — he gestures for Rhys. 

Grabbing him by the base of his shaft so he can guide himself onto it, Rhys straddles Jack and the chair — long legs really come in handy at times like this. He braces his other hand, the robot one, on Jack’s shoulder, and carefully, he lowers himself onto Jack’s cock. Jack keeps his arms at his sides, lets Rhys do all the work, and he watches Rhys’ face with narrowed, critical eyes. 

Rhys doesn’t fail to notice the way Jack seems to be holding his breath, though. 

And as Jack’s cock enters him, as he envelopes him inch-by-inch, Rhys gives a shaky sigh. His other hand joins the first on Jack’s shoulders, and he takes Jack halfway before he starts to pull up. He goes slow, getting used to Jack’s girth, but Jack is impatient. 

His voice is tight when he speaks. “Doesn’t seem like you want it very bad.”

“Just — give me a second.” 

“I’ve given you like ten seconds here, cupcake. I’m growing antsy.” 

Rhys bears down again, eyelids fluttering. Abruptly, Jack grabs him by the waist and hauls him the rest of the way, forcing him to take all of him. A hoarse groan tears out of Rhys and he slings an arm around Jack’s neck, hips trying to buck even as Jack holds him in place.  

And he should feel affronted, shouldn’t he? But he’s so full of Jack, so stretched and full, and it’s just _good_. There’s no room in him to feel slighted. 

“There we go,” Jack says, his tone mocking gentleness. “That’s what I’m talking about. Now… show me how much you’ve missed me.” 

It’s quick and turbulent and everything that Rhys has dreamt about since that first time. He rides Jack slow at first, then harder, and Jack’s hands are _everywhere_. He pulls on Rhys’ hips, urging him on, squeezes his ass and spreads his cheeks apart, slides his hands up to play with his nipples some more. 

And as one hand goes up to Rhys’ hair, twisting into it so hard that Rhys’ scalp burns, the other wraps around Rhys’ cock and strokes him in swift, easy motions. Rhys moans his name countless times, says things like, “So good,” and “Almost there,” and Jack tells him how pretty he is like this, what a good boy he is. Someone else had once tried the whole ‘good boy’ thing with Rhys and nothing had ever made him feel so turned off before — but this is Jack. 

It’s bad how hot for him Rhys is.

The closer Rhys gets to climaxing, the more he loses control of his actions. He rocks against Jack wildly, the chair creaking under them, and Jack works his dick like he wants it to hurt. It doesn’t. It makes him vibrate with pleasure, makes his bones feel electric under his sensitive skin. 

And the whole time, he and Jack just stare into one another’s eyes like it’s a challenge. Rhys wants to look away, wants to maybe bury his face in Jack’s neck and breathe him in, but Jack’s gaze is too magnetic and intense. And Jack is watching for what he always watches for — what the pleasure does to Rhys’ expression. 

Rhys knows it’s mostly because Jack is arrogant and he likes to see the effect he has on him. But a part of him might like to think it’s also because Jack just honestly cares about getting him off that much. 

His vision blurs a little and he swats Jack’s hand away, his hips stuttering to a stop. He’s there. Right at the edge of the precipice. “Jack — _Jack_ —”

“Keep going.” Jack smacks one of his thighs. 

“I can’t.” 

Jack grunts and pulls on Rhys’ hips. Rhys keeps his mechanical hand on Jack’s shoulder, while the other settles on his cock — not stroking, merely holding it because he’s ready to blow any second and maybe he can put it off if he holds it tight enough. He lets Jack move him, lets Jack drag him forward and shove him back as he fucks him. 

When he comes, it’s just as powerful as the first time. He gasps Jack’s name and collapses forward, tucking his face into Jack’s neck as his body jerks and twitches and he comes into the condom he’s wearing. Jack follows almost right after, spitting out a curse and something about how tight Rhys has gone around him.

He makes Rhys get up almost as soon as he’s done. He dismounts with shaky legs, and then just sinks to the rug and stretches out like a cat. Jack laughs at him. Puffs up with pride even as he reaches down to take the condom off of Rhys so he can get rid of it along with his own. 

“You wanna shower before you hit the road, or what?” he asks when he comes back and Rhys has made no move to get up. 

“Yeah — yeah. I need a minute.”

“No dice, kitten. I gotta wake up early so it’s time to get the fuck up.” 

Groaning maybe a little over-dramatically, Rhys forces himself to his feet, gathers his clothes, and shuffles to the bathroom. He showers as quickly as he can, but it’s all too easy to get distracted under water that feels so good. It isn’t fair that there are actual, real life people who have bathrooms this nice, he thinks. When he’s getting dressed, he happens to catch sight of his reflection in the mirror over the sink. 

Where Jack had bitten him on the shoulder, back in the elevator, the skin is already dark and swollen. And that’d been _through_ Rhys’ shirt. He can’t help but admire the sight for a moment — it’s not every day you get marked by the president of Hyperion. 

Jack’s waiting for him with his money and something else. 

“An ECHO communicator?” 

“Bravo, _very_ astute.” 

Rhys rolls his eyes, pocketing the money and turning the device over in his hand. 

“This is just for me and you, kiddo, a private link, so I don’t have to step foot in that lame place you seem so fond of ever again,” Jack says. “Now I can just call when I want and send my car ‘round to get ya — pretty smart on my part, right? That’s what they pay me the big bucks for.” 

Jack wants this to become a regular thing? Rhys feels like singing. 

“Oh, uh, cool,” he says instead.

“Yeah, ‘cool,’” Jack mimics. “Now go on, get outta here.” 

On the ride back, Rhys just stares at the ECHO device and considers how lucky he is. 

And when he gets home, Vaughn can’t miss the way he all too obvious way he struts through the door like a peacock, all pride and self-satisfaction. He looks up from what he’s reading and his eyebrows go together. Then they go up almost to his hairline.

“No way,” he says. 

“Yes way.” 

“Handsome Jack? _Again_? Seriously, man?” 

“Seriously.”

“I had absolutely no luck tonight and you’re out there with Hyperion’s poster boy and _chief executive officer_ for a _second_ time. This is so unfair.”

Rhys pulls out the fresh roll of bills and tosses it at him. Vaughn catches it and groans, throwing himself against the couch cushions like a child about to throw a tantrum. 

“I’m so jealous I feel like I’m gonna be sick. I can’t even look at you right now.” 

And Rhys just laughs and laughs. He doesn’t tell him about the communicator though. What he and Jack have feels really intimate in a bizarre sort of way, and he doesn’t want to share it with anyone, not even his best friend. Not yet, at least. He just wants to have this one secret. 

 

***

 

It becomes somewhat regular after that.

It’s a lot easier now that Jack can contact Rhys directly, and he takes full advantage of it. The first time he sends his car, Rhys takes Vaughn outside to watch him have a meltdown over the luxury of it all — because by then, he’s already caved in and told Vaughn _everything_ , of course. By the fourth time, Vaughn is begging Rhys to work out a deal with Jack, a three-way type thing so that he can cash in too. (To which Rhys gleefully explains, “Sorry, man, he’s only got eyes for me. What can I say? I just have that effect on people.”) 

And the sex _never_ disappoints. 

Rhys’ favorite was a night when had Jack bent him over in front of the large, sweeping window in his bedroom. Rhys had braced his palms against the cool glass and gotten to look out at the beautiful cityscape as Jack grasped his waist hard enough to bruise, and fucked into him hard enough to make him feel boneless. He’d been struck — both by the sight of Helios and the ghost of Jack’s reflection in the glass — and he’d thought, man, he could do this for the rest of his life. 

The money helps. He and Vaughn are able to catch up on their overdue rent as well as replace some of their faulty appliances. They buy new clothes and eat food that actually has flavor and can afford medicine when they aren’t feeling well, because of _course_ Rhys shares his money with his best friend. Why wouldn’t he? Half the fun of spending money is having a bro to spend it with. 

A couple of weeks or so pass and soon it’s Rhys being the first to contact Jack, asking him what his plans for the night are. Jack always acts like he’s too busy, like Rhys’ calls bother him and come at the worst time, but he never turns him down. And his tone always takes on that low gravel that tells Rhys he’s already thinking about what he wants to do when they’re alone. 

However, when he calls Rhys early on a Wednesday afternoon, it’s to cancel their plans.

“Gonna be stuck here all night because _somebody_ was too _stupid_ to know you don’t hit the big button that says ‘delete’ when it comes to transaction records. And _somebody_ is an idiot who doesn’t know how to recover said records without crashing the whole entire system, and _I’m_ the only one in this forsaken place _smart enough_ to know how to _fix_ it.” Jack’s animated and loud, and Rhys can hear another voice in the background — higher pitched and apologizing profusely. 

“You’re breaking my heart,” Rhys says.

“Yeah, I know, kiddo, but I’m sure you’ll bounce back.” 

“You gonna make it up to me next time?” 

“Do _not_ push your luck right now.” 

Rhys laughs a little. He hears Jack groan, frustrated. 

“Don’t be smug. It’s unbecoming.”

“You’re smug all the time.” 

“Yeah, no, it’s becoming when it’s _me_.” His voice raises, growing sharper, and his next clipped words are directed at someone else, “Did I say I was done with you? Plant your ass back in that chair.”

You hear stories about the kind of CEO Jack is, about how he handles the people who work for him. Rhys feels a stab of pity for the person Jack’s talking to, though it’s followed by something else he can’t really explain. Something that almost feels like contempt. Jack doesn’t hide behind pretenses, you know what you’re getting when you meet him. All you have to do is shut up and and do what he says and you’re golden — hell, Rhys could have had this man’s job and done it a hundred times better, he thinks. 

So if Jack thinks this guy is deserving of punishment, who’s Rhys to say otherwise? 

“I swear, without me, this company would crash and burn. And does anyone _thank_ me for all that I do? Nope, nothing,” Jack’s saying, and Rhys can’t tell if he’s talking to him, to his employee, or to himself. Maybe it’s all three.

So Rhys has a free night when he’d originally thought he’d get to see Jack. Great. 

He hangs around the apartment until nightfall. After Vaughn leaves with plans of his own, Rhys feels like he’s going to go crazy if he has to remain there alone any longer. He puts on some clean clothes, shoves some condoms into his pockets, and makes his way to the bar. He’s been with other clients a few times since he and Jack started hooking up, and though none of them are quite like Jack — both in terms of how they screw and how they pay — money is money and he gets to show off his skills. 

And it helps him get his mind off of this weird addiction of his, if only for a little while.

It doesn’t take long for a man to come over and talk to him. He even buys Rhys a drink — one of the expensive ones. Ka-ching.

He’s a first-timer and Rhys doesn’t mind his type at all. They’re easier to convince of his rates, more genuine in their reactions, and there’s something endearing about the ones that are a little nervous. He’s the complete opposite of Jack and that makes him perfect for what Rhys wants.

They leave together, Rhys’ flesh arm draped over the man’s shoulders, and he points out the hotel down the block with his robot one. He doesn’t notice the car just outside the bar, nor does he notice the person who’s just climbed out of it. Not until he speaks.

“I’m not _interrupting_ anything, am I?”

He and his john spin around, the both of them jumping away from one another like they’ve been caught doing something wrong. Handsome Jack stalks their way, his shoulders a tense line and his expression hard. Electricity practically sparks off of him as though he’s carrying a tempest with him, and Rhys doesn’t know whether he feels nervous… or excited. 

“Jack,” he says, but he doesn’t know where to go after that.

Jack ignores him. “ _You_.” He points at the other man, who shrinks at least three inches under his vexed gaze. “What’s your name? What do you do?” 

“Wh — what?” 

“You heard me,” Jack says, and when the man looks to Rhys, he snaps, “Don’t look at him. Not now and not ever again.”

“ _Jack_ ,” Rhys says again, this time exasperated. 

“We were just — we were —” the man starts.

“Oh, I _know_ what you were gonna do, buddy, that’s not what I asked, now is it?” 

The man starts to turn towards Rhys again.

“ _What_ did I just say?”

“This isn’t worth it!” the man exclaims, and before Jack can terrorize him any further, he books it. 

Jack almost looks like he wants to follow, but then he narrows his eyes at Rhys. He’s angry — no, he’s _pissed off_ — and had they not been hooking up for so long now, Rhys might have had the urge to escape with the other guy. Instead, he just stares at Jack. 

“What’d you go and do that for?” he asks. “I thought you were gonna be busy.” 

“Yeah, well, things change. Get in.” 

Jack doesn’t wait for him. He goes back to the car and disappears inside, and Rhys is left standing there and feeling like he’s trapped in a dream. It had all happened so fast that he’s sure he missed something — it feels a little surreal. He turns to look after where his attempted client fled, then looks back at the waiting car, and he pushes out a sigh through his nose.

Had Jack really just shown off because he was _jealous_? 

Rhys is torn between feeling annoyed and thrilled to pieces. 

When he slides into the seat next to Jack, Jack doesn’t look at him. In fact, he doesn’t look at him for the majority of the ride. Eventually, guilt has Rhys shifting uncomfortably in the seat, and that makes him a little angry — he doesn’t have anything to feel guilty about. 

“I called and called, and then I called some more,” Jack says, his voice doing that mockingly friendly thing. “Here I was, thinking you’d want to hear the good news, and here you were, not even thinking about little old me while you tried to pick someone new up.”

“News?”

“That I’d be unexpectedly free tonight, keep up.” 

“I left the ECHO home, I thought — well, you _did_ say you’d be stuck there.” 

Jack shoots him a scowl. 

Rhys snorts and shakes his head. “You don’t get to be angry at me, man. You don’t even get to be angry at that other guy. This is my _job_ , okay? This is what I _do_.” 

Jack says nothing, but grasps the seat with one hand so tightly that his knuckles turn white. Rhys turns away from him to look out the window, and he shakes his head in disbelief. Vaughn would probably tell him he was stupid for getting into the car after seeing how angry Jack was, but Rhys isn’t afraid.

At least, he wasn’t afraid until he has this very thought. He _should_ be afraid, shouldn’t he? 

He darts a quick look back at Jack, but Jack’s gone from angry to indecipherable — he’s completely and utterly unreadable. He wouldn’t… punish Rhys like he does his employees, would he? They’ve got a nice thing working here, a partnership even. Did this ruin things? 

When they reach Jack’s place, Jack gets out of the car and storms towards the building, but Rhys hesitates. Should he try to leave? Maybe come back when Jack isn’t in such a bad mood? He figures that if he _had_ , in fact, ruined things, Jack wouldn’t have invited him back home, right?

Jack isn’t going to hurt him. He knows it’s a dumb idea to trust such a hunch, but he does. 

In the elevator, the silence gets to be too much for Rhys. 

“Jack, it wasn’t — it was nothing, alright? You don’t need to be so sour about it.” 

“Stop talking.”

“I —”

“ _Rhys_.” 

And even though he rolls his eyes, he falls silent. 

Jack doesn’t say anything else until they make it to his penthouse. They get inside and he grabs Rhys by the front of his shirt and rams him against the door as it closes. His eyes are flashing, hot and incensed, and Rhys’ hands come up to Jack’s wrist, his eyebrows shooting up. 

“I don’t pay you enough, huh?” Jack bites out. “ You need _more_ money?” 

“What —?” 

“I’m not enough for you, you have to go to that crappy place and pick up guys with wrists limper than their dicks and bowl cuts? Frickin’ _bowl cuts_?” 

“That’s not very nice —” Rhys says instinctively. 

Jack growls. Using his grasp on Rhys’ shirt, he heaves him away from the door and propels him towards the bedroom. Rhys’ heart rattles in his chest, but the closer he gets to the bedroom, the more he realizes that it’s not fear he’s feeling. It’s not fear that’s got his pulse thrumming in his ears and his mouth dry as a desert. And it’s certainly not fear stirring his cock to life in his pants.

God help him, he’s _enjoying_ this.

There’s no more speaking until Rhys is sufficiently naked — having been stripped by brutal fingers that had nearly torn his clothes in the process — and sprawled on his back in Jack’s bed. Jack tears at his own clothes like they’re suffocating him, like he’s going to die if he doesn’t get out of them, and Rhys is actually growing hard from this. 

Jack had come across the lube in Rhys’ pocket, and he drizzles some over Rhys’ crotch. He grabs him immediately, starting to stroke him in fast, ruthless pumps, and Rhys’ body doesn’t know how to react to it. It’s good and it’s bad and it’s everything he shouldn’t want but does. 

“You belong to me,” Jack says. 

A stupid little moan leaves Rhys. 

“ _Mine_ , you hear me?” Jack says, as if he needs to clarify any further. 

Rhys nods, flushed and breathless, and he’s trying to find a rhythm, trying to move with Jack’s touch. He shouldn’t be so willing to accept what Jack’s saying, but there’s been a lot of shouldn’ts in his life since he’d met Jack. Jack himself is one gigantic shouldn’t. 

But the fire in his eyes, that cruel passion that pierces Rhys right to his core…. 

Rhys is obsessed with it. He needs it. 

“Let me hear you say it.”

“Yours,” Rhys pants out. “No one else’s.” 

And then Jack’s shoving Rhys’ legs open and up, fitting himself between them, and he lubes up his own cock. He hasn’t put a condom on, and Rhys understands why right away — he’s trying to prove a point. And this is a point that he actually wants to see proven. He’s a willing slave to Jack’s whims.

He lifts his hips and angles himself as Jack draws nearer. Jack uses what’s left over on his hand to lazily prepare Rhys for him, thrusting two fingers in and out of him just a few times before he replaces them with his dick. Rhys mewls and arches against the mattress, clutching Jack’s arms hard enough to bruise, and Jack curses at him. 

He sinks into him, buries himself to the hilt, and he spares only a moment for Rhys to get used to it. And then he lets loose. 

It’s hard and fast and dirty. He fucks Rhys like it’s a punishment, driving into him so rough and deep that Rhys claws at his shoulders and yells. And Rhys meets him on every thrust, pushing himself up and falling into the vicious rhythm. It’s wrong, everything about it should feel wrong, but Rhys can’t get enough of it. 

He’s too busy holding on for dear life, so Jack jerks him off. His grasp is tight and firm and he leans down to bite at Rhys’ neck and collarbone as he’s pumps him. 

“I own this pretty little dick,” he says, his voice strained as he works. “ _I own you_.” 

“Yes,” Rhys moans. 

“No one else from here on out. Just me.”

Rhys nods, bucking upwards and gasping for air. 

“And if I find out you’ve been hitting up the bar and looking for someone new, _ohh_ , pumpkin, you don’t want to know what’ll happen.” 

At that, Rhys comes. 

As he trembles from the aftershocks of his orgasm, Jack pulls out of him just long enough to roll Rhys over onto his stomach. Rhys is too weak to get on his knees, so Jack straddles him from behind and plunges into him while he lays flat. He curses at Rhys and tells him all sorts of things as he finishes — tells him that he’s beautiful, that he’s too good for anyone else, that Jack is the only one who deserves him. 

And then he comes inside of Rhys, filling him with his load and holding himself there as though he wants to make sure none of it escapes. 

He collapses beside Rhys on the bed, sweaty and winded. For just the briefest of moments, he almost looks like _he’s_ the one who’s been destroyed, and it’s an image Rhys wants burned into his memory. He did this to Jack. He’s the reason Jack looks so ruined. No one else. 

The thought makes him feel light and airy.

When Jack looks at him, the anger in his eyes has been replaced by something else, something that’s heated in a different way. Feeling stupidly giddy and moonstruck because of all that Jack had said during the throes of passion, Rhys flashes him an exhausted smile. 

Jack returns it. 

Rhys wakes up in Jack’s bed the next morning, not having realized he’d even fallen asleep. Jack isn’t there, most likely at the office, but after he cleans himself up, Rhys finds coffee waiting for him. 

_Mine_. The word echoes through his mind. 

He thinks he likes the sound of it. 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this part is more plotty than smutty, i'm sorry!

Rhys keeps his promise. It’s not like it’s hard. 

Over the next week that passes, he spends almost every night at Jack’s penthouse, though he only sleeps over once or twice for Vaughn’s benefit. He’d been so upset with Rhys for not calling to let him know that first night that he wouldn’t be home, that he’d given him the cold shoulder for at least twenty minutes. Rhys had been on his knees begging for forgiveness after only fifteen, promising that him falling asleep had been a total accident. Vaughn had heaved a dramatic sigh and said, “You know I can’t stay mad at you,” and they’d hugged and bro-fisted and everything was right in the world again. 

Rhys doesn’t tell him about the… arrangement he and Jack have. It’s weird and he doesn’t think Vaughn would understand it. He thinks Vaughn would just get all worried about it and start stressing so much that his hair starts falling out — that’d happened once and Rhys does _not_ want to see it happen again. 

But when Rhys starts coming home with actual _gifts_ from Jack, Vaughn definitely figures it out for himself. There’s clothes — clothes that Rhys could _never_ justify himself buying because of how expensive they are — and a shiny watch that hurts his eyes to look at for too long because it glitters so much in the light. There’s even a cosmetic upgrade for his arm that gives it a sleeker, updated look. 

Jack likes for him to wear the watch when he comes over, and he especially likes being able to tear off the overpriced clothes he’d paid for. And if he likes it, Rhys likes it. Really, _really_ likes it.

“You got a package.” 

He jumps as Vaughn appears in the doorway of his bedroom. In his arms is a wrapped box, and on his face is The Look. His eyebrows are drawn skeptically, his eyes uncertain and mouth a thin line, and Rhys is used to that look because Vaughn has been giving it to him since he brought home the very first present from Jack. 

He enters the room fully and sets the box on Rhys’ bed, his hands going to his hips. “It’s from your, uh, whatever you want to call him. John seems too casual when it comes to Handsome Jack.” 

“You’re telling me,” Rhys says, moving towards the bed. He’s not going to lie — he’s intrigued. Getting gifts is always fun, no matter who they come from. And because it’s a gift from Jack, he _knows_ it’ll be a good one. “Must be something he wants me to wear tonight.”

“Oh? You guys made a date, that’s — that’s cute.”

“Shut up.” 

Rhys unwraps the box and pops the top off of it. He feels a little awkward with Vaughn watching, and in the back of his mind, he’s just hoping Jack didn’t think to send him anything embarrassing. He even breathes a silent sigh of relief when he sees what’s inside: more clothes. 

It’s a two-piece suit, dark with subtle pinstripes, and it’s formal but not stiflingly so. It’s unlike anything Rhys has ever worn in his life, and as he swipes a hand across the material, he almost wants to put it on right away — it’s sort of like when the smell of food can make your mouth water. There’s also a yellow tie, and a pair of dress boots, all fancy and leather. 

He gives a low whistle as he picks one up. 

“Looks like skagskin,” Vaughn points out. 

“Looks expensive,” Rhys says. 

“Well… yeah. Duh. What are you guys even doing tonight?” 

Rhys sets the boot back into the box and shrugs. “I don’t know, I mean, he didn’t really tell me anything. He just said —” Rhys puts on his best Jack voice, “— ‘See you on Friday, kitten,’ and that was it.”

“How many times do I have to remind you that I _really_ don’t need to hear his pet names for you?”

Rhys opens his mouth. 

“And don’t say it’s because I’m jealous. Because I was at first, but I’m totally over it now.”

Rhys closes his mouth. 

There’s a note in the box too, he realizes a little belatedly, so he picks it up. It’s short and to the point. _Tonight, 1800, HJ_. 

Vaughn grabs Rhys’ arm and pulls it down until he can see the note too, and then he laughs. “Like how he signs it. ‘HJ.’ Like you’ve got some _other_ guy sending you clothes more expensive than our apartment.” 

“They’re not that expensive.”

“Bro, if we sold these shoes alone, we could eat steak dinner for the rest of our lives. And not just steak, but the good stuff.” 

“I _think_ you’re exaggerating, Vaughn.” 

“Yeah, well, my point stands. This dude is _money_.” 

“What does that even mean?” Rhys shakes his head, but he can’t bite back his grin. 

“It means exactly what it sounds like. Hey, see if you can get your Hyperion sugar daddy to buy us a new place to live or something, I’m sick of this hovel.” 

Rhys chokes on his tongue and turns to gape at Vaughn. “Sugar daddy? Did you really just say that?”

“He spends loads of money on you. You have sex with him. Probably other stuff I don’t want to know about. Plus, he’s taking you somewhere important tonight, I mean, look at that suit. What else _should_ I call him?” 

Rhys opens and closes his mouth uselessly a few times before he shakes his head again. He laughs, maybe a little embarrassed. “He’s _not_ my sugar daddy.”

Vaughn cocks his head and raises his eyebrows.

“He’s _not_ ,” Rhys insists. 

“Look, man, you might have started out as just a classy little working girl, but you’re pretty much a sugar baby right now. Don’t run from it. Embrace it. Embrace the sugar baby lifestyle.” 

Rhys laughs and shoves Vaughn, and then Vaughn laughs and shoves him back. They wrestle around a little bit, pretend punching each other and making fighting sound effects with their mouths. When they finally stop, Vaughn puts his hands on his hips, Rhys crosses his arms over his chest, and they both sigh. 

They stare at the box. 

“Well… I’ll let you, you know…” Vaughn says. “Gotta make sure it fits and all.” 

“I’ve never worn anything like it. I’m gonna look like a monkey trying to pass as human.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, dude. You’re too tall. It’ll be more like a giraffe.” 

On his way through the door, being frog-marched out by Rhys, Vaughn throws in that he’s heading to the store to pick up some stuff. 

“Ice cream,” Rhys says before Vaughn can ask.

“What kind?”

“Any kind. Surprise me.”

“Are you even gonna be home to eat it?” Vaughn asks playfully. 

“ _Get out_.”

 

***

 

There’s something else in the box that Rhys hadn’t noticed at first. 

After a long, relaxing shower, Rhys pulls the suit out and lays it carefully on his bed, not wanting to get it wrinkled or otherwise messed up. The material is smooth and soft, the sleeves of the shirt and jacket expertly cut and hemmed to make room for his robot arm, and despite Rhys’ anxieties about putting it on, he’s honestly thrilled. With the gifts and money Jack showers him in, he’s finally able to wear the clothes he’s always wanted to — he’s always maintained that he has great taste in fashion, just not enough money to show it off. 

He can’t wait to get into it. 

And that’s when he sees the socks in the bottom of the box. They’re overwhelmingly yellow, with narrow white and black stripes, and Rhys snorts in laughter. Jack is really very immature and transparent, he thinks. But… he kind of likes that about him. 

In the midst of getting dressed, he realizes that the tie is an actual _real_ tie and not a clip-on, and he panics a little. Vaughn, who’s long since returned from the store, hears his panic, and comes running. Rhys flaps his hand at the tie, then at his neck, and without even needing to be asked, Vaughn does him a solid and helps him out. 

“You really should learn how to do this yourself. I mean, I learned back when I was applying for all those fancy desk jobs I never got. Never know when it might come in handy — right now being a case in point and all.” Vaughn steps back to make sure the tie is straight, and he nods his approval. 

“I know how to do it, you’re just… better.” 

“Whatever you do, do _not_ tuck it in.”

“It keeps it out of the way, man.”

“ _Don’t_.” 

Vaughn remains in the room while Rhys finishes getting dressed. The skagskin boots slide on like they were crafted specifically for his feet, and Rhys could cry they look so badass on him. He straightens, buttoning his jacket and smoothing his hands down his front, and as he turns to face Vaughn, his arms go out at his sides.

Vaughn’s eyebrows shoot up. “Whoa, dude. You look great.” 

Rhys grins. He knew it. He’s always known he was meant for a lavish lifestyle. 

“I mean, you look fine most of the time, you’re not, like, a crap dresser or anything,” Vaughn quickly adds, “But you look awesome, man.” 

“Thanks. And for the tie too.”

“What else are best friends for? Hey, it’s almost six — your ride’s gonna be here soon.” 

Rhys looks at his stupidly fancy watch and nods. He doesn’t know what Jack has in store for him tonight, but the idea that it involves him dressing up like this makes his chest swell in excitement. He moves to look at the mirror he has hanging above his dresser and he proceeds to make sure his hair is _absolutely_ perfect — as neat and tidy as he can make it, not a strand out of place. 

He meets Vaughn’s gaze in the mirror. 

“I’m not gonna pretend this whole thing isn’t weird,” Vaughn says slowly, “Because it is. It really is. But… if you’re happy with it, I guess I am too. I mean, if he was a psycho killer or something, he’d probably have gotten rid of you the first time you told one of your lame jokes, right?”

Rhys laughs but tries to cover it up by clearing his throat, and he slides a faux-stern look Vaughn’s way. 

Vaughn flashes a boyish grin and claps Rhys on the shoulder — it’s a gesture that doesn’t carry the same weight it might if Rhys and he were the same height, but it works well enough. “Go get ‘em, ‘kitten.’ Tell your sugar daddy I said hi or whatever. But, uh, it’d be cool if you didn’t tell him that _I’m_ the one who called him that.”

Rhys is waiting outside when Jack’s car pulls up.

Up until that very moment, he’d felt great. He knows he looks like a million bucks, because he already looks almost as good as that when he’s dressed in his own clothes. But as he walks towards the open door of the car, he can’t help but start to feel a little self-conscious. Impressing Jack is his highest priority tonight, showing him that it wasn’t a waste buying these things for him. 

Jack is dressed up too, wearing a dark three-piece suit and a tie that very obviously matches Rhys’ — a tie that looks nearly _identical_ — and it’s stupid but wonderful at the same time. Rhys flashes an immediate smile at him. Jack’s mouth twitches as he sweeps his gaze over Rhys, and cool satisfaction gleams in his mismatched eyes. 

Rhys’ insecurities disappear in an instant. 

“Look at you, all cleaned up and dapper like you actually got a sense of fashion. I’m impressed.”

“Did you really have any doubts?”

“Oh yeah. Plenty.” 

Rhys laughs and shakes his head, and Jack stares at him for a moment longer. Then he sighs. 

“Tonight’s gonna be a little different, cupcake.” 

“Sure, whatever you want.” 

Jack gestures with his fingers for Rhys to go on. “Lay it on a little thicker for me.” 

Rhys bites back a grin and looks at Jack from under his lashes. “Anything for you, Jack.” 

“I’m gonna have so much fun with you later on tonight,” Jack says wickedly. He sobers quickly and rolls his eyes. “But first, you’re coming with me to a little shindig Hyperion’s throwing. I have to put in an appearance at every little dinner party every little peon throws because: president and all.” 

“You’re taking me to a party?” 

“Don’t get your hopes up, this shit is awful. Basically, I want you there to distract me and look pretty on my arm.” 

“Hah, well, I’m good at looking pretty.” 

Jack glances sideways at him and smirks. He then reaches over to rake his fingers through Rhys’ hair, a gesture that is neither gentle nor affectionate. Rhys fights the urge to pull away — he enjoys Jack’s fingers against his scalp, sure, but his hair had been _flawless_ before he’d gotten into the car. He’s sure that Jack’s messing it up on purpose — he would bet money on it, even. 

“That, you are,” he says. “That, you most certainly are.” 

The party is at a lounge that Rhys never would have been able to get into before. As he strolls in alongside Jack, his arm hooked loosely on Jack’s, he tries to keep his expression neutral as he soaks it all in. There’s extravagant decor and furniture, and the people around him are all dressed to the nines — maybe not dressed as nicely as Jack is, but Rhys’ opinion could definitely be an objective one. Subjective, he reminds himself, remembering the time Jack had corrected him. Whatever. 

And as Jack rubs elbows and mingles with his employees, Rhys gets to see firsthand the reaction he gets. People _fear_ Jack. Legitimately. Not all of them, of course. Some seem to have a cold sort of respect for him that he returns in his own way, but a lot of them look at him like he’s some kind of all-powerful deity waiting to strike them down on the spot. 

It’s all rather exciting. 

Rhys sees the way these people act around him  and all he can think about are the noises he gets Jack to make when they’re alone, the faces he makes when Rhys touches him a certain way or moans his name the right way. All he can think about is Jack telling him how pretty he is. How special he is.

Rhys could gloat, he feels so smug. 

Jack doesn’t introduce him to anyone. He doesn’t even really talk to anyone long enough for Rhys to _want_ to be introduced. He figures there’s no need for it anyway. It’s obvious that he’d arrived with Jack, that he’s his… _date_. The thought makes Rhys feel warm. He’s not just hooking up with Jack at his penthouse where no one can see them — he’s out in public with the CEO of Hyperion, dressed in his best and wearing a tie that’s almost identical to Jack’s.

That _means_ something. Everything.

“Do you see the way they’re all looking at you, kiddo?” Jack asks in a low tone after about an hour of socializing. 

Rhys, who’s currently in the process of stuffing his face with hors d’oeuvres as gracefully as he can, glances at Jack with a furrowed brow. “Huh?”

“They’re totally jealous. The way those pants hug your skinny little ass, those gorgeous eyes of yours.” Jack laughs and shakes his head, pleased with himself. “They all want a piece and none of ‘em can have you but me.” 

Rhys hadn’t noticed anything like that. “I don’t know. I’ve mostly just been paying attention to you all night.” 

Jack finally looks away from the crowd and fixes Rhys with an even stare. For the briefest of moments, a millisecond, he almost appears surprised. Then he grins. “Of course you have. How could you not?” He gestures to the buffet and says, “Eat and drink whatever you want. It’s all on Hyperion, babe.” 

Rhys is well on his way to getting drunk when he spots someone across the lounge. It’d been quite a while since he’s seen them, but sometimes there are people you just can’t forget. Even if you try really hard. He ducks behind Jack a little, murmuring a short curse, and Jack, ever the bloodhound, is instantly ready for any sort of action. 

He looks at Rhys seriously, his eyebrows going up. “You alright, there, Rhysie? Drink so much cheap beer normally that just a _little_ bit of the good stuff makes you crazy?” 

Rhys doesn’t respond to any of that. Instead, he says, “I might have, uh, done some _business_ with someone here. In the past.” He quickly adds, “Before you.” 

“Who?”

“Like I said, man, it was before you. A while ago.”

“ _Who_?”  

Rhys leans around him and looks again, and yeah, he definitely recognizes the man now. He can’t remember his name for the life of him, but he’d know that smarmy look anywhere. He nods towards the man and says, “Big guy, big hair.”

“Oh, that’s — that’s Wallethead,” Jack says. And then he scowls harder and his fists clench at his sides as he watches Rhys’ former client schmooze it up with other people. 

“Wallethead?”

“I’ll tell you later. God, what is his name?” he muses. Before Rhys can even try to answer a question he doesn’t actually have the answer to, Jack grabs a nearby Hyperion employee and demands, “Which one is that over there again?”

After a little confusion — and after the poor employee names everyone standing in the same group before they get to the one Jack actually cares about — they finally say, “Vasquez, sir.” 

“Vasquez,” Jack echoes darkly. He huffs at the employee who’s remained before him, then makes a snappy little gesture with his fingers and says, “Alright, I’m done with ya, buzz off.” He turns and gives Rhys a look of disgust, his nose wrinkling. “Did you have _any_ standards before I came along?” 

“It was back when I was just starting. I couldn’t exactly be picky about who I took money from,” Rhys says dryly. 

A muscle in Jack’s jaw jumps and he turns to look back at Vasquez, his eyes narrowed into slits. Rhys remembers Vasquez because he’d hated it _that_ much. He’d been an awful john — inexperienced but desperate to seem the exact opposite, self-centered and careless, painful. He’d been the one to try out the whole ‘good boy’ praise thing that Jack does so well. Vasquez? Not so much. And the worst thing about him was that he was clingy. He’d come to the bar repeatedly afterward for the sole purpose of trying to get Rhys in his bed again. It’d gotten to the point where he’d needed to be kicked out and banned when he'd refused to take no for an answer. 

Rhys doesn’t feel any guilt in pointing him out to Jack, even knowing that Jack won’t forget this. He can practically _see_ the murderous intent that hangs over him like a storm cloud, and he knows it should worry him. But it doesn’t. Vasquez is a dick. 

Jack takes a deep, composed breath and tears his gaze away. “I’m having such a nice night with you, I don’t want to cause a scene,” he says. “Because if I cause a scene, then everyone’s gonna start yelling, some might cry, there’s gonna be a big mess to clean up. Just steer clear of him, alright? If I see him so much as breathe in your general direction, hell, I’m gonna —”

“Cause a scene?” Rhys suggests with a cheeky grin. 

“A really frickin’ big one,” Jack promises. 

It’s easy enough to avoid Vasquez. Unlike the other partygoers who seem to hang onto Jack’s every word and action, Vasquez is only interested in talking himself up to the people he can get to actually believe his tales. He never comes up to Jack, not once. Rhys relaxes as he drinks a little more, and he comes to the conclusion that Vasquez probably wouldn’t even recognize him anyway. 

He’s wrong, though. Vasquez _does_ recognize him. 

A little later, he and Jack are making an attempt to leave early, but just as they’re stepping outside, Jack gets called back in. Something about addressing his workers about upcoming employee reviews or progress reports. He sighs, agitated, and Rhys can sympathize. He’s had his fill of the stuffy party and just wants to get back to Jack’s place and get to the fun stuff already.

He can’t wait to get Jack out of the vest he’s wearing. Or maybe he wants Jack to keep it on. He hasn’t decided yet. 

“I swear, these people would forget how to breathe without me around to remind them,” Jack says. “Stay put. Let me go work my magic.” 

“Don’t keep me waiting too long.”

Jack gives a fake laugh and says. “That’s cute, real cute, that you think you can tell me what to do.”

Rhys grins to himself as Jack disappears back inside, and then he leans against the wall to wait. He’s tired, still buzzing from the drinks he’d had, but contentment fills him with a certain kind of warmth. This is his scene, there’s no doubt about it. The clothes he’s wearing, the food he’d gotten to eat….

Whoever it was that had said that money couldn’t buy happiness had been wrong as hell. 

He messing with his watch, playing around with some of the functions he has yet to figure out how to use, when it happens. Someone appears beside Rhys and before Rhys can look up to see who it is, they speak. The sound of Hugo Vasquez’s voice makes Rhys’ teeth grind together. 

“I know you, don’t I?” 

“Nope, don’t think so, pal,” he says, keeping his head down. 

“No, no — I _know_ you.” 

And then Vasquez is craning his neck so he can get a good look at Rhys’ downturned face, and he flashes a smile that Rhys is sure is meant to be charming, but really, it’s just slimy. Rhys shrinks against the wall. He’s afraid if he gets too close, Vasquez’s smarm will rub off on him somehow, that he’ll catch it like the flu. 

It’s the eyes that Vasquez seems to be focusing on. Rhys wonders if he’d have recognized him at all if his eyes had both been the same color. 

“It’s you,” he says, pleased. “The arm had me, but it’s the eyes that sell it.” 

Rhys grimaces. 

“I haven’t thought about you in a while.”

“I’m sorry, who —?” Rhys tries. 

“No, you remember me, I know you do.” 

Vasquez moves closer, and Rhys sidles away from him. He doesn’t take the hint and just moves with Rhys, still wearing that insufferable little smirk, and Rhys’ mechanical fingers clench into a fist. He could totally hit Vasquez, couldn’t he? That’s fair, right? 

Though, Vasquez does look considerably stronger. And Rhys has never had much of a swing.

“Are you here with someone or what?” 

“Yeah, I —”

“I got a deal for you, pretty boy. I’ll pay twice what I paid last time, how’s that sound?” 

“I’m actually here with —”

“Whatever your cost now, I can afford it, believe me. Do you know how important I am?”

“ _No_ , man. No thank _you_ , god.” And Rhys is mostly just annoyed that Vasquez hasn’t given him a chance to tell him he’s there with Jack. Partly because he wants to brag about it, but he also wants to see that smirk get wiped from Vasquez’s face.

“Look, this whole ‘hard-to-get’ thing is hot and all, but we’ve already played this song and dance with each other.” Vasquez grabs Rhys’ arm, the flesh one, and his fingers bite through Rhys’ sleeve and into his skin. “What are they paying you? I’ll match it. Double it, if you play your cards right.” 

Rhys opens his mouth. This time, it isn’t Vasquez who cuts him off.

“You couldn’t match what I’m paying even if you saved for the rest of your life, buddy. And double it? Hah! Don’t make me laugh.” 

Vasquez’s face falls. Letting go of Rhys’ arm, he spins to face his boss and says, “Jack, I, uh, I didn’t know he was with you. He didn’t say.” 

Rhys rolls his eyes and mumbles sarcastically, “Maybe if you’d let me actually, you know, speak.” 

“Well… now you know.” Jack nears them, his steps slow and calculated, his arms spreading out slightly. He looks every bit as dangerous as Rhys knows he is. And Rhys loves it. He puffs up slightly, kind of eager to see how this plays out. Remembering the night Vasquez had put him through, he can’t help but to think of this as some sort of sweet revenge, a case of someone getting their just deserts. Vasquez takes a step back, and Jack says, “Leaving already? I just got out here.” 

“Oh, I just thought I’d let you two get out of here. I’m sure you’ve got stuff you want to get done…”

“You have no idea,” Jack says, “But see, there’s a problem, here, Wallethead.” 

Vasquez bristles. 

Jack grabs Rhys’ flesh arm and holds it up, and Rhys stares at him, bemused. Jack sweeps up Rhys’ sleeve, exposing his skin, and Rhys grows even more puzzled, his eyebrows stitching together. He glances at Vasquez, and maybe he’s a little relieved to see that he’s not the only one who’s confused. 

Jack shoves Rhys’ arm in Vasquez’s face, and Rhys stumbles on his feet. 

“See,” Jack says, “You went and you put your hands on something that belongs to me. And not only that, but this kid has delicate skin — it’s awful, right? He bruises like a peach. And now he’s gonna be all marked up from someone who isn’t _me_. You following along here?” 

Vasquez laughs. “It was a little mistake, Jack.” 

“You got that right.”

“I didn’t mean —”

Jack punches Vasquez. He punches him so hard that he seems to crumple into himself, dropping to the ground as though in slow motion. Rhys doesn’t get as big of a kick out of it as he’d thought he would, even as he remembers how much pain he was in the night he’d hooked up with Vasquez. It’s disappointing, to be honest. But at least he and Jack can get out of there, he thinks. 

Only, Jack doesn’t seem to want to leave now. He unbuttons and shrugs out of his jacket, and he hands it off to Rhys, who dutifully takes it and drapes it over an arm. Then Jack uncuffs the sleeves of his shirt and starts rolling them up his forearms. The sight sends a thrill of sorts through Rhys, to see Jack so fired up and intense. And at the same time, Rhys feels a stab of concern. 

Vasquez might be a dick, but Rhys doesn’t think he’s quite up to watching this right now. 

“See what happens when you touch what isn’t yours?” Jack is saying. He straddles Vasquez and crouches, grabbing a hold of the other man’s collar and hauling him up some. “You see what happens when you get too big for your britches?” 

He rears back and punches again. His fist smashes squarely into the middle of Vasquez’s face, and Rhys hears something crack. He winces. Then he shifts and looks around, maybe to see if there’s anyone who wants to try and stop this, but they’re completely alone. 

Jack swings again. Rhys cringes again. 

And then, in the blink of an eye, both of Jack’s hands are around Vasquez’s neck and Jack is strangling him. He’s talking again, rambling about how disrespectful Vasquez is, about how he has no regard for other people’s things, and Vasquez struggles weakly. There’s blood streaming down his face, and Rhys realizes that he’s not taking any pleasure in this. 

He sighs, resigned. “ _Jack_.”

And when Jack doesn’t appear to hear him, he reaches out and places his robot hand on Jack’s shoulder. 

Jack whirls to look at him, eyes animalistic and flashing, and though Rhys shrinks back a little, he meets his gaze evenly. He says nothing else, and Jack stares at him for a moment that feels impossibly long. Slowly, some of the fire leaves his eyes, fading away like tendrils of smoke, and it’s like he’s coming back to himself and waking up from a daze of sorts. 

He drops Vasquez, who collapses to the ground like a sack of bricks. He moans pitifully, clutching at his face, and Jack scoffs like he’s disgusted. He straightens to his full height and smooths his hair away from his face, then slides his hands down his front to make sure his vest is straight.

It’s like flipping a switch. He goes from angry to casual in the blink of an eye, and Rhys finds it both impressive and unnerving at the same time. 

“Your office better be cleaned out before I get in on Monday, or — _ohhh_ — you’re gonna wish I’d killed you, buddy.” 

Vasquez’s only response to that is another feeble groan of pain. 

Turning on his heel, Jack stalks towards his car. Rhys follows, nearly stumbling over one of Vasquez’s squirming legs, and he jogs to catch up with Jack. He doesn’t really know what to think, much less what to expect. And Jack is indecipherable. 

He gives a bitter chuckle and shakes his head. “No one’s ever at the office before me on Mondays. He better get there _pret-ty_ early is all I’m saying.” 

“Did you have to do that? Rhys asks. 

“Do what?” 

“You know… _that_.” 

“How are else are people gonna learn?” Jack asks. When they reach the car, the back door opens, and he turns to Rhys to take his jacket. He give Rhys a sickly sweet smile and adds, “Come on, guy’s an asshat anyway.”

“Well, yeah, I mean — there is that,” Rhys says.

“Did you see his face right after I hit him? Wish I’d had a camera.” 

Rhys doesn’t know what to say. 

“Don’t give me that look,” Jack says with a roll of his eyes. He throws his jacket into the backseat and turns back to Rhys, skeptical. “Are you trying to reprimand me here or something?” 

“Do you always resort to such quick violence?” 

“Do _you_ have a problem with that?” When Rhys doesn’t answer right away, Jack sighs like he’s dealing with a child who’s having trouble understanding something. “You know what I’m about, babe, I don’t hide anything from you — I don’t have to. Because if you didn’t like it, you wouldn’t be here, now would you?”

Rhys ducks his head a little, sheepish. Jack wasn’t wrong. And Rhys knows that maybe he should have gotten away before things had gotten so serious between them. Maybe he shouldn’t have encouraged Jack’s behavior, shouldn’t have furthered both of their obsessions as he did. 

But Jack represents something to him, however selfish it makes him. He represents a better life. Money, protection, good sex. 

When he looks back at Jack, Jack grins as if he can read his mind. “You love it. You love my power.” 

“I don’t know if I’d use the L word or anything. Don’t think we’re really serious enough for that,” Rhys attempts to joke.

Jack grabs Rhys by his tie, yanking him forward, and Rhys’ breath catches in his throat. Electricity races down his spine and curls around the base, and Jack hasn’t even touched him yet, but his skin tingles at the idea of it. Could Rhys even get away if he wanted to? _Could_ he walk away and not return? Or would he always be under this guy’s spell? 

“What’s my name?” Jack asks.

“Jack.”

“What?”

Rhys bites back a grin. “ _Handsome_ Jack.” 

“That’s right, pumpkin, and you know what that means? It means I can do _whatever_ I want. And you…. You get off on that, am I right?” 

“Maybe. I shouldn’t.” 

Jack cackles. He jerks on the tie and drags Rhys even closer, and before Rhys knows it, Jack’s mouth is against his. His kisses are hard, all teeth and tongue, and his lips are dry and firm. Like everything he does, he kisses like it’s a punishment — that, or like he thinks if he does it hard enough, you’ll never, _ever_ forget it. 

It hits Rhys that this is the first time they’ve actually kissed on the mouth. It fills him with an inexplicable smugness. 

When Jack pulls back, lips glistening and his eyes having grown dark with desire, he stares hard at Rhys. Slowly, he twists Rhys’ tie around his fist until there’s no more tie left. They stand like that for what feels like hours, just gazing at each other and breathing one another in. Jack almost seems to be waiting for something, and despite his usual impatience, he looks like he’s willing to wait as long as it takes.

When Rhys can’t take it any longer, he says, “Let’s go home?” It ends up sounding like a question, but his gaze remains steady.

Jack grins a shark’s grin. Ka-ching. 

He steps aside and ushers Rhys towards the open door. When Rhys takes too long getting into the car, he knees Rhys in the ass to shove him the rest of the way in. He slides in after him, and Rhys laughs a little, but then Jack is on him again. He crushes his mouth to Rhys’ — it’s like he means to smother him and suck the life out of him. 

And really, there are worse ways one can go, Rhys thinks. Considering what Jack had intended to do to Vasquez, he’d much rather go out like this.

As the car starts moving, Jack’s hands are everywhere. Between licking into Rhys’ mouth and nipping at his lips, Jack murmurs sweet nothings into the kiss — Rhys is so pretty, so good, so sweet, so _his_ — and Rhys buries his hands in Jack’s hair, wanting only more. 

This is the sort of life he was meant for. 

It’s not perfect. It feels tumultuous, volatile even. But Rhys has never felt like this before, and after all the shit he’d had to deal with in his life, he thinks he deserves to feel like this — he deserves the life that Jack is giving him — if only for a little while longer. When you live in Helios you see Handsome Jack everywhere. He’s a rockstar. And for now, he’s exactly what Rhys wants. 

 

**_ THE END _ **

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so it isn’t a typical happily-ever-after ending, but it _is_ a happy-for-now ending, even if it’s for all the wrong reasons. Jack’s happiness comes from Rhys being an accessory, a pretty object he can show off and flaunt to others, and Rhys’ happiness comes from the fact that he’s taken care of and provided for, and made to feel like he’s important. this is the exact way i planned on ending it, so i’m sorry if it isn’t quite what you were expecting — hopefully you like it anyway!
> 
> i might be interested in revisiting some of these scenes and writing them from Jack’s POV, just 'cause i think that'd be fun. or possibly a sequel where Rhys actually decides he wants out of this weird “relationship.” either way, to anyone who read this, thank you for sticking with me. you’re all babes and i love you for making me feel so welcome in this fandom~


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